


An Hour's Nocturne

by Nazareth_Rose



Category: Glitchtale - Fandom
Genre: Chronic Pain, Pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 13:52:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17747090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nazareth_Rose/pseuds/Nazareth_Rose
Summary: This is a short story based on something earth-shattering that will most likely happen in the next episode of Glitchtale. Contains major, major character death.Trust me.You are not ready for this.No matter how much you think you are.





	An Hour's Nocturne

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyoftheWoods](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyoftheWoods/gifts).



“Ground control to Major Tom…”  
Sans woke, and the world hit him. It was a truck, and he was nothing more than a little rock in the middle of the road. He could hear. He could hear. He could hear… He could hear the same song playing in the background a room or two away, his father putting it on replay whenever he was stressed. But what could be-  
Then came the pain.   
Pain was a throbbing thing, Sans would come to know in those hours to pass. Pain was more than a feeling. It was sentient. Encroaching. It was something that could be learned, something that could be taught. It was a vessel. It was a worm, tearing its way just below what the world could see. It was a companion, this rotting friend of his.   
Where was he? Where was he? He was in a bed, he knew that. He knew many other things, things scattered, things of a different life he knew more about. Things like photons, working energy, electrons. But he couldn’t force any of these words out. Minds, human and monster, tended to settle into this simple way after long rests such as these. They called it a “coma”, he was sure of it. Coma...coma. Coma. Coma! Coma? Comatose? Comatose? He’d been in a coma all this time? The gears in his brain went into motion, although they were sputtered, uncared for. Comatose? Could he walk? He was so tired. Could he?  
But where? Where? Where was he? Where?  
The blobs roared their way outside; Sans knew the noise all to well. While he was in his mountain of hate, the mountain that seared through him perhaps even more than this pain did, he knew the noise. It had become a part of him, and Betty had done such a commendable job at muffling the screams that the roaring was all he heard.   
But where, where, where?   
He wasn’t anywhere he’d been before, or at least anywhere he remembered. There was a glass case over him. Did his family think he was dead? He remembered Snow White from the movies. Skin pale as bone, just like his. A glass case, just like his.   
He tried to teleport, but everything inside him turned to searing plasma, as if Jessica wanted another round of vengeance that was much more than the first. Something tore out of his throat. Something awful, something that left him shaking more. He meant for it to be a cry for someone to help, at least before he could get enough energy to teleport, but it came out as a noise an animal would make. A noise a monster would make. Something like him.  
He stayed there, didn’t make any noise. Maybe a monster should be caged like this, even if the cage was made of glass.   
It was only when his father opened the door, opened the glass over Sans’ bed, that it came.  
The pain came, and it came sudden, came swift, and the throbbing, sentient… thing, this creature, came back, and it wracked him. It wracked him, and the bones were whipped, and whipped, and torn, and whipped again, and Sans was arching, and the front of his hospital gown was touching the glass. There was a thumping sound, but he kept his hands firm to the bed, clawing, clawing till he felt foam instead of fabric. But his feet were alive and wild, kicking, kicking the poor bed to shreds.   
“D-D-DDRG-DAD-”  
“Yes?”  
His father wrenched his hands to flight. The medicine came coursing, and Sans came to, but the pain was still there, only pushed a few feet away. There was a gasping noise, and Sans didn’t know who made it until he found his own chest tired.   
“Did you use the-”  
Hands still clawing the bed. They never stopped. Pain was always there, only a few inches now.  
“-use the Deter-deter-detRGG-”  
Papyrus’ eyes turned into pools, and Sans knew he had to do something. Maybe keep his teeth clenched, at least when he wasn’t talking.   
Or maybe smile.  
He did for a moment, but the foundation became all skewed, and Sans had to go back to a monotone expression. A smile couldn’t be a smile if it was skewed.  
The smile had seemed to make his brother chuckle a bit, but his father grew worse if anything, and he only nodded. No speech. Nothing but the heart monitor yelling in its unpredictable way.   
The sound came, but a little quiet, then quieter before it ever got louder. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, dear God, I’m sorry-”  
It came again. The beast came again, and his lip quivered without him knowing, his legs making a plopping sound against the bed with him knowing. But he could do this. He had to.   
One hand stopped from clawing the bed. He had to do something now. He couldn’t T onto anything; that would be too much of a trouble if he was ever going to try and speak. He had to do something. Wait? No, he couldn’t wait. That was all medicine could do. But he needed to do something, something… maybe sit his hand on his father’s lap?   
His brother. He had to focus on his brother’s eyes. Then he’d switch onto his father, just like that. Just like that. Something to distract him, that’s all. That’s all he needed. Come on, Sans.   
My brother’s eyes are orange. His eyes are orange. His eyes are orange. His eyes are orange.  
Sans got his hand off the bed. The beast came screeching.   
They’re orange, they’re orange, they’re orange, and they’re orange, and they’ll always be orange, and they’ll always be there, because he’s my brother and he has to he has to he has to-  
The hand landed on his father’s lap, and the heart monitor shouted awhile before going back to its normal whine.   
Now to get the words out. This was the hard part.   
The left hand clawed deep, and the sheets were mauled, and his fingers found foam.   
“Dad.”  
He considered lifting his head, but only his eyes would work now.  
“I wanted you to.”  
It was enough to keep his father silent for the next hour, but not the pain. The pain was too loud, and each and every time either of the two tried to speak, it roared, and he kicked, and it interrupted the both of them. It was an hour, surely, but it may as well have been a day. A year. A lifetime.   
The worst part of the hour was when thirst weaved its way through him, even though Sans didn’t feel it. He had to sit up, and the beast sat on him in retribution. This time he could bite; he had to bite, or else he’d wake up the whole of creation. He bit on the patch of torn-off coat that had finally loosened and fallen on the bed, and the noise, awful as it was, came from his throat, and he could feel Papyrus looking away before he saw him look away.   
By the time it was done and the water had poured down, down into him, he let himself flump against the bed. The beast was there, certainly, but it was different. He’d let himself slide under it, rather than fight it. That was what needed to be done, he supposed, if he’d ever build enough energy to fight it in the first place.  
But this time let him say a few words. “Dad?”  
His father’s hand lay on his stomach. “Yes?”  
“I’m sorry. Sorry for everything.”  
“All’s forgiven. All’s forgiven.”  
It was only now that the pain spread to his father, his bones being intact but his soul somewhere far else. It was only now that his father winced until he could hear his eyelids tugging at him, feel the tears soaking the throbbing bones he was holding in his hand. Sans’ eyes darted from left to right, from his father’s hand to his eyes and back again. “I need you to do something, alright? ‘Cuz it looks like I just might not be able to.”  
Dr. Gaster tried to predict what thing he’d have to do, what beast he’d have to forgive, but his rationalizing turned into tumbling, stumbling, and his thoughts fell.   
The monitors protested.; His father found he couldn’t muster an “alright”.  
“Dad.” He looked one more time back at Papyrus, and then at a place only he could see, and then back at his father. “Tell Azzie that I’m back, alright? Just this one thing. Just this one thing for me, alright?”  
Papyrus’ mouth stuttered open, but one glare from Dr. Gaster’s mouth made it silent again. They knew what had happened to the prince, known that he’d tangled himself in a mess far deeper than Sans had. They knew he’d been taken, stolen, the same way Sans had, and that there was nothing anyone could do to reel him back. But Jessica had been stolen from here the way Sans would be stolen soon. As Dr. Gaster was very quickly learning, there was nothing they could do to reel any of the two back. This was a different world Sans had woken to.  
But maybe… just maybe, if the beast could be held back…  
“Yes, son. I promise I will.”  
A tear lurched its way out of Papyrus’ eye, but if Sans noticed, he didn’t say anything. But for a moment, Sans thought his brother was going to shove his way out of the room, and when in a half a minute his brother was still in the chair, Sans was surprised.   
Before any more words could be said, his father lifted him up. Strangely, the beast was gone now.   
“Dad. Dad. I’m so scared, Dad.”  
“I know. I know.”   
The monitors beeped to the point of exhaustion, and the world became nothing. The blobs were defeated into the half-dark that death often tends to bring. Except this death was littler, gentler, brought a blanket instead of pain to muffle the noise, to muffle the pain, the searing pain.  
He was littler now. He was a child, resting on his father’s chest. A part of Dr. Gaster, a small part of him, unrestrained, wanted the rest to come later. His brain, his larger part, wanted it to come sooner.   
“Dad?”  
“Yes, son?”  
He could feel his son’s fingers as they tried not to claw at his jacket, and he winced once more.  
“Do you-”  
He stopped.  
“Do you still have the scarf?”  
Papyrus snatched it off his neck, and it was only when he touched his brother’s hand that he started to cry. He cried out an awful noise, not knowing it was his until he felt the ache in his throat.   
The sun slipped under the mountainside, and something died inside Asriel, something hateful, something wretched. He remembered something. Remembered the spear headed towards him when he was first under Betty’s verdict, remembered whose blood stained his clothes at the end of that day. He remembered, and his eyes turned green. Betty turned into a monster in Asriel’s eyes for the first time in months, centuries, and Asriel took the sword hilt in his hand.   
The sun set on the Gaster household. Sans was so tired. So tired.   
He looked into his brother’s eyes until they turned into marbles, glazed with water. He smiled, the way he always had.   
And he died shaking.


End file.
